Sunday, January 5, 2014

The father figure decided that he would let me sleep in. He had been present during some of Cinco's wilder antics the previous night and had taken pity on me.

As it was Saturday, X-Man and Mac got up at the crack of dawn. It wasn't yet 7am. We were alerted to this fact by X-Man screaming about something. Or nothing. It could go either way. The father figure entered the girls room, where both boys were, engaging in some sort fisticuffs. Because where better to air grievances than your sleeping sisters' room? Certainly not your parents' room. At least if you want to live.

The father figure shooed the boys back in their room and encouraged them to play with all the loot that Santa had brought them. X-Man wasn't sold on the idea and continued his protestations. But the father figure cheerily said "Have fun", shut the door and headed back down stairs. He then sweetly said "I'm shutting the door so you can sleep." And there I was, enjoying the closest thing to peace and quiet that can exist in my life.

And then the phone rang. The father figure, previously in the running for husband of the month, discovered that his price was indeed time and a half and told his employer he'd come in to work. And with that, I was up and at it.

I'm still not clear if the father figure was entirely well intentioned when he shooed X-Man back into his bedroom. Because five minutes later, as I headed up to check on the boy, I could smell his accomplishments in the hallway. And I discovered what possibly could have been the reason for the boy's screaming. X-Man's diaper was around his ankle. And yes, it was most certainly smelly. Did I mention he was wearing footed pajamas?

Yeah. Yay me. It was pretty clear that the diaper had fallen down before the source of the smell entered the equation. And that I was going to have to wrestle a fecal covered toddler into a shower. And decide if the brand new Christmas present jammies were best consigned to a bio hazard bag.

By the time X-Man made it into the shower, the carnage spread over three rooms. Don't ask how. I wasn't certain how severe the damage was, so I unzipped him in the bedroom, shrieked and he took off running. With pjs around his ankles. This of course led to the inevitable butt plant on the new carpet.

And I ended up telling the father figure "Don't try to be helpful again." Which I think just might have been the reaction he was angling for.